


The Sunlight Hour

by TechieHux



Series: The Sunlight Hour [2]
Category: Dredd (2012), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Nurse/Patient, Nurses, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Recovery, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, kylux adjacent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-07-20 23:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechieHux/pseuds/TechieHux
Summary: Techie's only company seems to be misery these days, and so Matt takes it upon himself to help his charge experience what wonders the world of the Psych Ward has to offer. Not all that happens next is ethical.[The door he leaves open a crack, enough for light to stream in once the sun rises. Matt watches his patient’s face until it slackens in sleep, peaceful. William Huxley is still the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, even sweaty with terror and looking a bit green. Matt swallows hard. He’s absolutely fucked.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It was a long, rough road to posting this part of TSH but here it is! Special thanks to Isilwenshadewind and MonsterDibs <3

“Here you go.” Matt hands the comfortably seated Techie a Styrofoam cup filled with water (and dissolved sleeping pills- as per his instructions.) He takes it with resignation clear in his tired eyes, knowing full well what’s in it and why. A week without sleep is liable to lead to a psychotic break.

Sullen, Techie takes the cup gingerly in his trembling hands and sips at the edge, eyes lowered. Matt stands awkwardly in the center of the small room, shifting weight from one foot to the next and clutching his flimsy clipboard of notes to his broad chest. The scrubs are a little too tight, but he can’t afford another pair. His salary is pathetic, goddamnit.

Once the cup is drained (protocol forces him to check) Techie slides under the blanket and pulls it up to his chin. It’s oddly endearing, and Matt fights back an unprofessionally soft smile every time Techie does it. He watches Matt with those big blues of his until Matt turns towards the switch and lowers the lights to 5%.

Matt can’t help but stare back, awkwardly. It’s been a week and he still can’t get this part to flow naturally. Stilted, neck breaking out in blotches of red while he suddenly feels hot under the scrubs, Matt says ever so eloquently, “Goodnight, dude,” and shuts the door before he can see Techie’s reaction.

Dude?

DUDE?

Out of everything he could have said…

With a defeated sigh, Matt hangs his head and shuffles over to an empty room. The other psych ward patients have long since been moved to another floor, though he has no idea why.

This room is three doors down from Techie’s, and the corridor cameras are pointed in such a way that nobody will be able to see him enter. Next to the doorway is an empty plaque; the type you slide a neat strip of paper into with someone’s name in blocky type.

Although preoccupied with his own thoughts, Matt knocks on the wooden frame three times as he enters, more out of habit than anything else. He’s been an unlucky man since the day of his birth. So unlucky, in fact, that he’s taken up residence in this hospital wing while he’s effectively homeless.

The cot creaks when he sits on the very edge, pulling off his garish crocks ($3, thrift store) and then the thick, unflattering metal frames (2$, over the counter.) Matt settles under thin blankets, tugging the pillow before his chest and wrapping his arms securely around it, curled up on his side. The lights are dim here too, like the far reaches of space, and Matt distantly wonders how Techie is holding up. It isn’t hard to sink into a light sleep, here; much more comfortable than his cramped Toyota, filled to the brim with boxes of his belongings and with a stain of melted pink crayon right on the bottom of the passenger’s seat.

Matt dozes off for a good three hours, snoring, wrapped up in the covers like a cocoon when a bloodcurdling shriek has him jump a foot off the bed. They don’t stop, growing louder and more panicked until Matt is sure the person making them is dying. Half-asleep and very blind, tripping on his shoes in his haste, Matt makes it to the source of the wailing: Techie’s room. The door is closed and Matt shoves it almost off the hinges, standing and panting in the doorway while he squints at the soft blur that can only be his patient. Techie is sitting on the bed, bony knees drawn up to his chest while fat tears roll down his cheeks, eyes staring ahead. Haunted. Unseeing. Upon Matt’s sudden entrance, his mouth snaps shut like a greased trap and they share a moment of profound silence, maybe understanding. Matt wasn’t supposed to still  _ be  _ here, and Techie wasn’t supposed to be able to resist the pull of  eszopiclone.

They have little chance to sort through these issues; Techie breaks into soulful sobs with overlapping apologies, a sad, shivering little lump pressing his palms hard into his eyelids. “I’m s-so  _ sorry, f-fuck!  _ I can’t- c-c-can’t- hic!- sleep and it’s- s-sorry, I’m so, SO s-sorry-!”

Matt releases a deep sigh of relief. He wasn’t dying, neither of them was. For a minute Matt thought he’d woken up in hell, surrounded by flames and doomed to have pained screams reverberate inside his skull for all of eternity. Thank fucking God the flames were just Techie’s wild hair, blurred by Matt’s myopia and the dark of the room.

“Hey, hey, s’okay,” Matt says, voice thick with sleep. “What…” He rubs at his eyes. “-happened?”

He only looks up at Matt with soulful, tormented eyes. “Nightm-mares.”

A fist encloses around his heart, squeezing  _ hard. _ He pulls up a chair from another room and plants it down with a THUNK beside the trembling Techie on the bed. He looks exhausted and Matt is sure they’re mirroring each other: tired, miserable. No words are said. Techie simply slides under the covers again, shifting towards the chair and watching his nurse with wary, lowered eyes.

Matt lets his weight fall onto the chair. It’s uncomfortable, a twinge of pain shooting up his tailbone, but the new look of parted-lip wonder on Techie’s face more than makes up for it. He hadn’t expected this. Neither of them had. Matt blushes hard in the dim light and rasps with a still sleep-heavy voice, “You’re safe, okay?”  _ With me _ .

“Thank you,” Techie whispers.

The door he leaves open a crack, enough for light to stream in once the sun rises. Matt watches his patient’s face until it slackens in sleep, peaceful. William Huxley is still the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, even sweaty with terror and looking a bit green. Matt swallows hard. He’s absolutely fucked.

The weight of being responsible for this man’s health and happiness settles over his shoulders. Though it’s a heavy cross to carry, there’s warmth to it, too. Finally dozing off after an hour and a half, Matt slumps in the chair and dreams of red hair.

 

* * *

Matt’s cheap watch makes three shrill beeps at 7am, a reminder to get ready for work. His perpetually nervous charge is curled completely up under the thick blanket. How is he breathing under there? The urge to lift the fabric catches Matt off guard; he peels the top away to expose Techie’s head. His cheeks are rosy, breathing heavy. Must have been fucking hot down there. Matt stands up and his back cracks, inwardly cursing his terrible impulse control.

At least Techie hadn’t woken up. With a deep sigh of relief, he swings by the other room for his car keys, coming back from the over-full parking lot with a set of fresh scrubs and underwear. It wasn’t hard to go unnoticed: Matt was just another stressed nurse in a sea of them, all wearing ugly but comfortable as hell shoes and rushing past like they had somewhere important to be.

He’d been loath to leave Techie alone for too long, would rather be constantly on-hand to make sure he doesn’t slash his delicate wrists again, so Matt ducks into the shower in Techie’s room and bathes in record time. When he comes out refreshed and sweet smelling, Techie groans, a choked little sound, and shoots up in bed, hair wild.

“Morning, buddy.” Matt tries for a smile, toweling his blond curls dry. Techie is still rosy, lips in a surprised O.

“Uh, morning… Matt,” he says while pulling the covers self-consciously up to his chin.

They share fledgling grins. Color rises in Matt’s face to match, and, panicked, he can’t stop himself from stomping to the lone window and loudly proclaiming, “Wow! What a gorgeous day!” even though the window pane is frosted over. Techie bites the inside of his cheek. It looks physically painful to hold that laugh back. Why does he try?

Once the almost-laugh dies away, Techie says, “Thanks for, um. L-Last night. It was… I needed that.”

Context, Matt chants to himself. Context is key. Down, boner. He’s still facing the window and can’t bring himself to look away. “You’re welcome,” he says, voice hoarser than it should be, before tossing the towel in the laundry hamper just outside the doorway.

Techie excuses himself for a quick shower and change, with Matt waiting outside patiently. Dude needs his space. Life hasn’t been kind to him; some privacy is the least Matt can do.

He’s allowed back inside like a naughty dog twenty minutes later. The first thing his eyes settle on are the blankets and bedsheets, carefully arranged in a heap on the floor. “I’ll put ‘em in the hamper for you,” Matt offers, only for Techie to spring forward and stop him, alarmed.

“No!! No! I’ll- I’ll do it!” He takes them up in his skinny arms and tosses them in the hamper himself, oddly jittery. Techie must have drooled on them, and now he’s embarrassed. That’s… kind of  _ cute _ . Matt holds his hands up placatingly, not expecting Techie’s eyes to snap to them from his funky half-crouch next to the hamper.

Their hands are so different: Matt’s thick, warm fingers, Techie’s long, thin, pale and calloused. Seeing Matt’s huge paws probably frightens his patient, so Matt gently lowers them to his sides. There’s a silence. Water drip drops from Techie’s wet red hair, plastered to his cheeks.

“I’ll be back,” Matt promises, once the silence has stretched too long and he remembers with a start that they need to get back on schedule. “Anything you want for breakfast?”

Techie shakes his head, snapped out of his reverie. He settles onto the naked mattress, taking a remote and powering up the TV.

 

* * *

Thanisson is in line at the cafeteria when Matt arrives, so lost in thought that they crash together.

“Shit, man! Watch it!” Thanisson growls, whirling around with his tray in a white-knuckled grip. Matt scowls in response and tries to step away. He doesn’t need Thanisson’s peacock shit today, or  _ any _ day. Techie’s waiting for breakfast; he needs every precious calorie to fill out his boney ribs.

With a roll of his eyes and shoulders, Matt says, “Outta my way, Thanisson. I don’t have time for this.” The line lurches forward. Matt grabs a tray too, brushing past the sleeve of his enemy’s scrubs and enjoying the way he tenses with an eyebrow twitch.

“Fucking fag,” Thanisson huffs, puffing his narrow chest out. It’s not impressive in the least.

Ignore him, Matt tells himself, desperately clutching his control. He’s just itching for a fight. Anything to get you in deep shit. He hangs back, eyes blazing, narrowed slits until Thanisson bores of him and drifts to an empty table.

There’s a decent spread of food: sausage links, unsalted scrambled eggs, milk, orange juice in a cute little carton, three kinds of fruits. Avoiding the strawberry milk (Known Allergies for William Huxley: strawberries and shrimp), Matt brings back two full trays of goodies and swings by the pharmacy for Techie’s morning meds, too.

“I come bearing gifts,” he says, placing Techie’s tray on the nightstand. He doesn’t spare Matt a single glance! What the hell has him so focused? Matt whirls around towards the screen and gets a crisp view of some prim military man giving a spit-flecked speech before an audience of thousands. “You like… military stuff?” It’s surprising if true.

He admits, “Not really,” and then returns to watching the TV, enraptured. Only when the news changes to another segment does Techie return to Earth. “Oh!” Delighted, Techie smiles and grabs the carton. “Chocolate milk!”

Matt takes a fucking sip of his own carton through a thin red straw as opposed to Techie, who chugs it down in under three seconds. There’s a foamy brown mustache over his bow-shaped upper lip and Matt aches to lick it off. This impulse he chalks up to not getting laid in over a year. Definitely not on having a crush on his ward, no sir. Nooooo sir.

That would be unprofessional. Utterly wrong. It’s- Techie gives him the softest, most angelic look and Matt nearly swoons, knees going weak. He stumbles down onto the chair he’d pulled up last night to avoid tipping over.

“Techie… can I eat here? With you?”

The question surprises them both. Technically, Matt’s not supposed to spend any extra time with his patient. None of the nurses are.

But then Techie extends his pinky and says, “I w-won’t tell if, if, if you won’t,” and Matt’s lost. He’s just  _ gone.  _ **_Fuck._ **

His skin is so warm when they pinky-swear, fingers sliding against each other. A promise.

“Just, uh, just. Please. T-Turn around… It makes me f-feel-“

Matt doesn’t think twice; he moves his chair so it faces the bathroom instead of Techie’s bed, and only then do they descend into a comfortable silence (with the exception of Techie’s rather loud chewing.) Later, with a full stomach and mind whirring, Matt asks, still facing away, “How long have you been here?”

There’s a pause like Techie isn’t sure whether to answer. But finally: “Three years, two months and seven days.” There’s defeat heavy in his tone.

Matt’s throat goes totally dry, as though he’s trying to swallow a boulder. He must ask if… He has to  _ know _ . “This place…” A deep breath. “Has it helped you?” If only he could see Techie’s reaction, but terror has him rooted to the spot, neck stiff.

A quiet, miserable, “No.”

Matt can’t bear to turn around. Can’t handle the weight of Techie’s reality: left at a haphazard psych ward for fucking  _ years _ , still depressed and now even more alone, more isolated than ever before…

With a sudden strength, Matt turns around and takes Techie’s hands in his, brows a harsh slant and brown eyes darkened with purpose. “I swear that I’ll make this hell-hole better for you!”

Techie can only stare at Matt, lips parted in disbelief and trembling in his grip. “Y-You… swear?”

“Yeah, you deserve it,” he promises, never having felt such confidence in his entire life. William Huxley should be treated like a prince, with someone who cares about him close-by.

It must be a foreign feeling to the perpetually mistreated redhead, to be told he  _ deserves  _ better than what he’s been given. A hard pill to swallow for someone who has thought otherwise for so long.

And yet…

Techie’s pinky finds his way towards his own. It’s slow, hesitant, like he can’t believe his own luck. 

“Thank you,” he says, a whisper, and breaks down into tears.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation in the garden.

Matt very quickly realizes that Techie's visits to the garden are going to be majorly unpleasant without a good pair of sunglasses, so that's the first thing he does after their odd lunch: hit the hospital gift shop and fork over five bucks for knock-off Raybans. Techie lights up when he sees them and doesn't hesitate to put them on over his still slightly teary eyes. It's an adorable sight: Techie with his lank locks pushed behind his cute ears, bridge of the frame slipping down his nose just a tiny bit. The frames are navy blue at the front, with white temples and curved, pointed edges.

  
Matt has a firm hold on Techie's side as they cross the heavy glass sliding doors that lead into the garden by means of a little brick path. The change from too-cold artificial air to the warm breeze outside is jarring but so, so welcome. He hears Techie take a deep breath and then let it whistle out past his lips. Something about this green sanctuary, small, and kind of sad as it may be, puts him at ease. There's a lightness to his world-weary gaze that makes Matt's heart clench up. This isn't their first time out here (maybe more around the eighth), but it never gets old.

  
"A butterfly!" Techie exclaims, delighted, pointing off to black, fluttering wings with spots of yellow and white.

  
Matt has never in his life been good with small, delicate things.

  
Vases? Shattered.

  
Babies? Cry without fail.

  
It's with halting, terrified steps that he makes his way to the patch of wilting daisies and holds out one thick finger. Techie watches in awe as the butterfly floats over to Matt easy as breathing, riding the breeze, and then alights on his index finger's knuckle.

  
"Oh, Matt!! Don't m-move!"

  
There's no choice but to comply if he wants to keep that rare smile on Techie's face. Standing perfectly still, Matt regulates his breathing so even the gentle rise and fall of his chest won't scare the butterfly away. Techie circles around him slowly, gaze trained on its wings, inching closer and closer until…

  
He's so close. They're so close, gravitating towards each other, but this isn't about Matt, Techie's going for the adorable butterfly, of course he would, Matt isn't adorable, and-  
Matt sucks in a quick breath and then his arm falters when Techie reaches as if to touch his skin. The butterfly takes to the sky and leaves them bereft.  
Techie's face falls. "I didn't… I didn't know what kind it was," he says, low. "Wish I did."

  
"I'll tell you!" He shouts suddenly, rushing to raise his mood, much too loud in the still of the garden. Techie's shoes rustle the grass when he takes a step back, nervous, hands rising towards his face. "Shit," Matt panics, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh, scare you. I can look it up. The butterfly... For you! If you want."

  
Down go the hands. "Oh, y-yeah, that sounds good. Thank you," and then Techie gives him an embarrassed smile. "You're not, not, um, scary, I just… loud things make me nervous?"

  
Matt knows he's scary-looking. It's a fact of nature. Tall, muscled, furrowed brows with a permanent half-frown while he towers over others. Awkward when he speaks, facial expressions the smallest bit… off, like he can't replicate them right. Ugly to boot, with his large nose and weird collection of facial features.  
He pulls himself out of the miserable recounting of his flaws only to see Techie watching him, jittery.

"Did I s-say something wrong?" he asks. "You, you went…"

  
"Was just thinking," Matt replies, regretting worrying him. "C'mon, let's check out the rest of the garden. Breeze's nice, right?" He almost offers Techie his hand but thinks better of it. That's weird, Matt. Stupid, stupid. Don't take his hand. Don't think about how soft they'd be.

  
Techie notices the aborted movement (he's always so alert, it's endearing; fuck, this crush is getting out of hand-) but doesn't comment, instead affixing Matt with a tiny smile. "Okay, s-sounds good." Their hands hover an inch away from each other as they undertake the brief walk to the other side of the fenced area, like opposing magnets.

  
Upon finding his favorite spot, Techie tucks himself up against the hollow trunk of the single leaning, nearly leafless tree and wraps his skinny arms around his knees, tight. He settles his cheeks between bone-sharp knees and sighs, eyes closing. So peaceful, here, although it makes Matt's heart ache. This place pales in comparison to the manicured front lawn of the hospital. Matt had seen it only twice: upon coming in for an interview and when he'd shown up for the first day, sweaty with nerves and thick frames sliding down his nose. Since then, he hasn't left the hospital. There's been no need to. It's home, it's work, it's… his life, their life, neatly contained within white walls and this little patch of grass.

  
Techie's getting his outdoor clothes soiled with faint red smears of old mulch. He should probably say something, coax him up off the floor, but instead, Matt hears his knees crack in protest as he sits beside him. Their thighs brush together with a quiet rustle of fabric.

  
"I like it out here," Techie says, completely unprompted. His eyes squint when he smiles, crinkling at the corners. Matt feels high as a kite. "If I could, um, stay longer…"  
He tries to avoid looking straight at Techie because he knows he'll combust the moment they make eye contact.

With a faux-cool side-eye, Matt says, "This place is so fuh- uh, so small. I barely fit." Stretching out his legs so the side of his crocs hit the fence is maybe too dramatic, but Matt does it anyway. Techie's attention on him feels divine like, he's got a sun that warms him up from the inside.

  
"Yeah," Techie agrees. "I'd love to see… the beach, I- I think. The sun is different th-there, isn't it? More real than here. If I remember really, um, really hard, I can almost feel it. From when I- when I was little."

  
Matt hunches his shoulders further, lowers his voice. "You'd wanna go? To the beach?"

It's impossible to avoid meeting gazes even with the sunglasses in the way. Techie lifts them up to rest over his head and gives him a tired look. "Of course, but… it's impossible. I can't leave, M-Matt. You know that."

  
Matt does, all too well. The conditions of Techie's release are set in stone. He's reliant on the signature of his next of kin, whose name is apparently so hush-hush it's redacted every time it's in print. Techie's tongue is suspiciously slow on the subject.

  
"Sorry," he mumbles, and grips at his blond curls, irritated at himself for making the moment so grim. With a shaky hand, Techie gently gives his head one, two pats.

  
"Don't d-do that, Matt. You'll h- hurt yourself." Techie cares for him when he hardly cares for _himself_... It's Matt's turn to bury his face in his knees.

  
"I… thanks, Techie. You'll see your beach, I promise. You'll get out of here and dance in the sun, if that's what you want."

  
Techie goes silent and Matt doesn't lift his face up for a long while. A little tinkling alarm goes off in the pocket of his scrubs, and routine picks up from there. They stand (Techie cautiously offering him his hand for a boost) and there's no other option than to wait until the next sunlight hour, and then the next, and the next, until years go by in a long, endless blur.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension and trying something new.

The days pass much the same. Techie doesn’t question why his nurse is just around the corner to comfort him whenever the nightmares get loud, just as Matt will frequently slip him his outdated Android to play Zen Garden Sandbox. He’s insanely good at every game he tries. Matt’s a little jealous... Correction: _more_ than a little jealous. His own fingers are too big and clumsy for the buttons on the small screen.

Techie’s virtual garden is lush, grass growing tall, untamed. Willow trees line the outside edge while the further you go in, the more the flowers stand out. Lilacs, sunflowers, bushes of roses in concentric circles with a refreshing, clear pond in the very center. Matt pulls out his phone every once in a while to admire the artistry of it, the effort and love Techie so clearly puts into _his_ garden. For it truly is his and his alone.

Matt can expect to find Techie sitting cross-legged on the edge of the hospital bed, puppy eyes in full force, when he wants to go to his 2D garden. This time, when he stumbles into his room breathless and panting, balancing a lunch tray and struggling not to drop the thick stack of paperwork under his arm, Techie is in the midst of scribbling on a sheet of paper while lying on his stomach.

“Morning, Tech,” Matt says, and closes the door with his foot enough to leave a crack. His charge freezes with the felt-tip pencil mid-gesture and goes tense. This is a first…

“Uh, h-hey! Matt! I’m. Um. Sorry, can you not… look? Please?”

Matt opens his mouth. Closes it. Feels his heart drop into his stomach and he’s unsure why. “Oh… sure. Lemme just…” He places the breakfast tray down on a night stand and then blocks Techie with his palm as though he’s a beam of light. With his free hand, arm pressed tight to his side in a desperate grip on the paperwork, Matt feels around for the spare chair and settles in with a relieved sigh. That could have gone so much worse!

As though cursed for even entertaining the thought, Matt sneezes so hard that he reflexively covers his own face. The ream of paper drops and scatters all over the floor. “Fuck!” he curses, so irritated he goes red in the face, then trips over himself to add a meek, “Sorry, Techie!” Goddamn! He needs to control himself. Loud stuff is Techie’s kryptonite and Matt would rather impale himself than scare Techie.

Techie’s apparently not noticed, already kneeling on the floor, picking up the papers and patting them into a neat stack. Matt dutifully covers his eyes again, but it’s too late- the image of Techie’s head between Matt’s legs is burned into the back of his eyelids, into his retinas, into his mind. Fuuuuuck. He scrubs at his eyes extra hard with his fingers to will the image away.

There’s soft footfalls and then the sound of papers rustling. Fabric sliding, too? Then, a feather-light touch on the bare skin of his arm, right under the hem of his scrubs. “You can look n-now,” Techie says, gentle. His blue eyes follow Matt’s hands back down to his lap.

Two things are different post-sneeze: his paperwork on the night-stand beside the tray and the disappearance of Techie’s secret sheet. It’s nowhere to be found. The felt pencils are still scattered around his bed, though. Gold, Brown, Black, and Pink.

“Thanks, Tech.” Matt smiles. His skin is heated where Techie’s long fingers had brushed.

Techie mirrors the expression in his own, more subdued manner and asks, “What are all, um, all these f-for?” His head flicks towards the stack.

“Ugh,” Matt groans, slumping back in the chair. “Don’t remind me! Mid-year progress reports are due.”

“You’re reporting on… on me?”

The hollow tone of it snaps Matt forward, anxiety spiking. “Yeah. I- I’ve got to. It’s my job,” he mumbles, apologetic. The shame of it curls in his stomach. He’s reporting on Techie as though he’s a lab rat… logically, he _knows_ it isn’t like that. The Head Nurse reviews all patients twice a year, without exception, and deems them eligible for release if there’s enough reason for it.

It’s not required for its existence to be a secret, only the reasons for the decision.

And he doesn’t know this happens.

Which means-

The previous nurse kept Techie in the dark.

Techie lowers himself back onto the bed, frowning. He’s looking at Matt from under furrowed brows. “I don’t l-like that. But. I- I understand.” Defeat. That’s what it sounds like. Never before has defeat radiated off a person like this in tangible waves.

“I wish we’d met in different circumstances.” It’s out of Matt’s mouth before he can stop it. “We’d, uh, we’d have been good friends.”

“And we’re not fuh-f-friends now?”

This is a tremendous fuck-up.

“We are!!” Matt stands up abruptly and takes Techie’s hands in his, gaze fixed hard on his pretty face as though he can transfer the certainty behind his words with just his eyes. “Best friends! I’ve never had a friend as special as you!” It’s too loud even to his own ears, but Techie, surprisingly, doesn’t flinch.

Instead he goes red all over, lips parting slightly. That flash of pink tongue makes Matt light-headed.

It could have been four seconds, four minutes, but the space between them is vibrating with potential, electric. Something’s gonna bend, someone’s gonna give-

Until Matt starts laughing with pure anxious energy, grimacing hard with the edges of his lips still turned up. The spell is broken. They quickly pull back from each other in sync, leaving Matt’s hands so, so cold. He rubs them together briskly as the nervous laughter trails off.

Techie releases a long-held breath.

“Well!” he exclaims, eager to gloss over the odd moment, “I brought you breakfast! A little later than usual… sorry, Tech. I had to pick up the paperwork and the Head Nurse’s office is in the ass-end of the universe.”

Techie snorts, then his shoulders slump while he goes quiet, considering. “Matt, wh-where’s your…? Don’t we usually… Um. I mean. It’s okay if you, if you d-don’t _want_ to eat. With me. It’s… fine.”

Matt does a perfect impression of The Scream. “Goddamn, I left my food in the cafeteria!” He face-palms himself _hard_ and groans. “Damn, and I almost did good today, for once.”

Relief settles over Techie like a warm blanket and he perks up immediately. “We could, could eat in the cafeteria. Together. I- I can do it if it’s with, um, you.”

The cafeteria is a communal area for staff, visitors, and the patients who aren’t contagious or otherwise incapable. There’s no rule that they can’t go eat together…

That sounds _amazing_ but Matt’s first and only concern is his patient, his… friend. Techie spends ninety-five percent of his days cooped up in the ward by himself, and the one time he came across a lost intern on this floor, he’d had a panic attack and devolved into tears. The woman reminded him of someone, Matt guesses, but hadn’t pried.

 “Are you sure?” Matt asks, serious, and crosses his arms over his chest. His hands still feel bereft.

Techie stands up from the bed and gives him a determined thumbs-up. “I- I can do this,” he says, and smiles. “I want to.”

Matt’s hesitance goes on the back burner. If Techie wants to take this step, he’ll be there for him. No matter what. He mirrors Techie’s gesture and then presses their thumbs together at the tip. Like sealing the deal. “Together,” he promises.

Always together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? :D


End file.
